Snowblind
by HappyChaos3D
Summary: Dean's been infected with a terrible poison.  Bobby has the antidote but a severe blizzard hinders their chances of getting there on time.  Hurt/hypothermic Dean and awesome/caring/panicky Sammy.
1. Chapter 1

A/N Another impromptu story written in haste that I might regret posting in the morning. The muse has been restless and unfocused lately but I haven't had time or energy to write so this is mainly an excercise at forcing the writing muscles to keep in shape. I'll try and spit out the next chapter soon. It's already written in my head it's now just a matter of time to type it out.

Warnings: Shameless and mostly plotless Dean whump and hurt/comfort ahead. Set in season two because I miss my Sammy.

Disclaimer: Not mine. If it were mine season six would've been done wa-ay different with Sam's soul healthy and intact having never gone into the stupid cage to begin with. (Yes, still bitter, can you tell?)

* * *

Sam can hear Dean shivering.

"How you holding up?"

"Fine," Dean replies tightly, clutching his chest absently.

"You sure?" Sam asks, not daring to take his eyes off the road because the snow and wind has picked up considerably in the last half hour making it hard to see.

"Yeah," Dean grunts, pain evident in his voice. He leans forward, wrapping his arm around his stomach with a groan.

Sam senses the motion but he doesn't comment on Dean's obvious lie because he's not fine and they both know it. But there's no sense wasting their energy arguing about it.

The car falls into silence as Sam strains to see the road beyond the heavy snow currently falling sideways across the road. He tries to focus all his energy in staying on the road but it's hard when worry creeps in as an unwelcome distraction. He wants to check on Dean's wound, make sure the poison hasn't spread but he can't, not right now. But other than his teeth chattering from the cold, and tightness in his voice, and obvious discomfort and understandable pain, Dean seems to be holding his own despite everything. Sam can only hold on to the hope that they'll get to Bobby's before it get's bad and in the meantime keep them from ending up stuck in a ditch.

"Sam, pull over."

The voice is weak, strained, desperate and urgent.

"_Now_."

Sparing a sharp glance at Dean he does as he's told, "You OK?"

Dean nods once before opening the door, inviting the frozen chaos from outside into the car as he leans over and heaves. The wind is beating against the driver's side with enough force to rock the Impala back and forth and send snow to drift back in through the passenger door. Sam winces from the sudden chill and tightens his winter coat around himself and watches Dean empty his stomach, his hand hovering over his back, hesitating before he makes a decision and massages soothing circles between his shoulder blades. Dean's muscles are tense, even under the layers of clothing Sam can feel them pull and he grimaces in sympathy.

"This…sucks," he gags, tilting his head back to meet Sam's before his stomach clenches and he hurls again with more violence than Sam thought possible.

"I know," Sam murmurs, "but we're going to get you some help. Just hold on."

"H-how?" Dean chokes out, motioning to the blizzard whipping around them, "We have…" he gags, "to stop."

"I can still see the road just fine," Sam promises.

"Sam, I know you're a good driver but you're not me," Dean teases faintly, he hurls again. "Roads are…" he gulps in a deep breath, "too bad." He vomits again and weakly slumps against the back of the passenger seat, "Oh shit…"

Sam can feel him trembling under his hand, he leans forward, "You finished?

Dean doesn't answer, just fights to breathe in the frozen air as it violently forces its way inside bringing snow. He sags into the seat, completely spent, body going slack.

"Dean!" Sam calls out in alarm, moving closer so that his side is pressed against Dean's back. He pulls Dean towards him and swallows back panic at the sight of blood dribbling out of the corners of his mouth. Dean's eyes are open in slits, awake but unseeing and his head lolls uselessly back as Sam pulls him in and reaches the close the door, cutting off the fierce wind and bringing the car into silence. Sam shakes him once, snow falling from Dean's coat and hair to melt where it lands. He manages to elicit a groan from his older brother, but nothing more as his eyes roll and slide shut.

"OK," Sam nods, looking out side at the long road ahead of them, almost invisible from the blizzard raging outside. "OK," he says again, glancing back at his unconscious brother.

He takes off his gloves and presses his fingers against his brother's neck, shocked by how cold his skin is, colder than it should be even after leaning out into the frigid cold outside. His pulse is rapid and weak, his breath shallow. Sam carefully pulls Dean close so his head is resting on Sam's thigh and Sam tries not to let Dean's lack of protest or response of any kind worry him too much. In fact, maybe it's better that Dean's unconscious. Maybe he'll sleep through the worst of it, maybe sleep will slow down the poison and buy them more time.

Sam doesn't know much about the poison, just that it's painful and since it comes from a creature said to be born of ice and snow slowly freezes the victim to death, among other things that Sam doesn't want to know about. But Bobby says he has all the ingredients to the antidote and he would have it ready by the time they arrive. That promise however came with a warning of how awful the effects of the poison and its cure are. Until they arrive at Bobby's the best Sam can do is try to keep him warm and comfortable.

He looks back at the road and subconsciously holds his breath as he internally debates his next move. Dean has a very valid point about stopping. Visibility is next to zero and even an expert driver like Dean would be a fool to dare venture out in this weather. The wise thing to do would be to stay and wait out the blizzard but Sam doesn't know how fast the poison will spread and how long Dean has before he'll succumb to it. Every instinct is telling him to just drive, and floor it because Dean may not have much time—Bobby's is still another hour away in normal driving conditions but with the roads being as bad as they are it could take over twice as long. On the other hand every instinct is telling him to stay put—he wouldn't do Dean any good if he got them stuck in a ditch or got them both killed.

Releasing a shaky exhale Sam pulls back Dean's jacket and bloodied shirt where it had been cut to inspect the wound on his chest. Dean's body tenses, muscles rippling and jerking at the contact and Sam chokes back a sob at the sight of the wound. There's a deep puncture an inch below Dean's right collarbone caused by the long sword-like claw of an ice-creature whose name Sam couldn't even begin to try and pronounce. It had bled considerably but that's the least of their worries considering how venomous the claws are and Sam could see purple lines snaking away from the wound, the poison spreading out in a spider web effect that had spread since Sam last inspected it.

Gingerly Sam touches the infected wound, startled by how cold it is.

"OK," Sam whispers, decision made, "Just, hang on Dean, fight it."

He reaches into the back seat and grabs another blanket to cover his brother with and tucks it around him, pulling Dean even closer, rubbing his arm vigorously to create warmth. Dean groans slightly, his body trembling but other than that he doesn't move.

"Hang on."

Sam cranks up the heat even further before he slowly, carefully pulls out onto the icy highway despite the fact that he can hardly see two feet in front of him and that the car fishtails immediately as the violent wind warns him to stay put and wait out what is apparently the storm of the century ravaging South Dakota. He regains control of the vehicle immediately and slowly accelerates. Impulsively, despite teasing Dean for the way he talks to his car sometimes Sam pats the dash murmuring, "C'mon girl, Dean needs help, don't fail him now." Another violent gust of wind attacks the Impala, forcing the car swerve and Sam clutches the steering wheel with both hands as he squints to see past the curtain of white ahead of him.

The poison is spreading fast and Sam curses Dean for shoving Sam out of the way of the creature's attack. Dean's the better driver, the roles should be reversed. Dean would be able to get them to Bobby's with time to spare regardless of the severe weather. How long has it been since they killed the creature? Two, three hours? Dean had been relatively fine for the most part, enough that they hoped that maybe they dodged a bullet, but Bobby said there's no telling how long before the poison takes hold but once it kicks in it moves fast and Sam's seeing that now.

He edges along at a painstakingly slow pace, cursing when a car going the opposite direction whips past them, sending the back of the Impala to veer back and forth almost driving them off the road.

"Easy," Sam murmurs out loud as he regains control of the Impala, not caring that he's talking to the car like it's a skittish horse, "Easy." Dean would probably laugh at him if he were conscious.

He glances down at Dean whose shivers are getting increasingly more violent, and Sam reaches to rub his shoulder and adjust the blanket. He touches his cheek, expecting it to be cold but startled all the same by how icy cold his skin is, despite the fact that to Sam it feels like a sauna inside with the heat up as high as it'll go.

The wind whips flurries of snowflakes and the road is slick with ice, drifts forming on the side of the road and on the road directly in their path, sometimes causing the car to skid and swerve. It's practically a white out, Sam can barely see past the hood of the car and when the mileage sign passes, Sam almost misses it completely. He can't read it, but they've been this way enough to know about what it says. Sioux Falls is mockingly close, but still too far away.

Suddenly Dean cries out, his body going taut, his back arching off the bench seat before he curls into himself, clutching his stomach with one hand and the wound on his chest with the other. "Shit!" he gasps, his voice hoarse and tight with pain.

"Dean?" Sam startles, the distraction sending the car to fishtail, the back tires hitting a sleek patch of ice putting the car into a spin as Dean begins to dry heave. Sam puts all his energy into regaining control of the impala while Dean, lost in a sea of pain slides off the bench seat onto the floor as the car comes to a sudden stop against a snow drift in a ditch.

Sam barely has time to register what happened before Dean body spasms and he lets out a strange keening noise that terrifies his younger brother.

"Hey, Dean it's OK, it's OK," he murmurs in comfort, knowing it's a lie and knowing Dean probably can't hear him. He pulls Dean back onto the seat next to him and Dean blindly claws at his chest with one hand and holds his stomach with the other.

"Get it out," he begs, "Sam! Get…get it out!"

"Get what…?" Sam starts but then he realizes and that only gives him more reason to panic, but he forces himself to remain calm, "Dean, it's out. It's out, it's gone." When the creature stabbed him with its claw, the claw had broken off which was the only way Sam was able to get enough leverage to kill it as Dean writhed in pain. But he had pulled it out of Dean's chest before the creature even hit the ground, knowing it was poisonous, knowing that every second it was invading his brother's body was agony.

Dean shook his head, gasping for air, reminding Sam literally of a fish out of water, suffocating and floundering, oblivious to everything else but its need to breathe.

"Dean! C'mon," Sam pulls him up into a sitting position, grabbing his wrist and forcing Dean to face him, "look at me, breathe, OK? Breathe." Sam can feel his heart beating in his chest a mile a minute at the sight of his older brother, desperately struggling, his skin ice cold and deathly pale, his lips and eyelids turning blue. "Breathe!"

Blinking his eyes shut Dean tries to draw in a deep breath. Sam shakes him and he tries again, tears spilling from his eyes as he struggles to breathe. All his muscles are stretched tight and trembling, wracked with spasms that have to be torture. When Dean blinks his eyes open again Sam is shocked to see the color fading from green-gold to an icy blue around the edges of his irises.

"Breathe!"

Finally Dean does as he's told, though the breaths are wheezy and shallow and his eyes roll, his lashes flutter and he slumps forward, exhausted. Sam pulls him close and Dean lets him, not giving any sign of protest as Sam wraps his arms around him, pulling the blanket over his shoulders while rubbing his back vigorously, massaging tight muscles, creating warmth. It's a nice try, but they both know it's futile.

"Man," Dean gasps breathlessly, "this…s-sucks."

"I know," Sam soothes, "but hang on and Bobby'll fix this, he has the antidote, he'll fix this."

"I m-m-mean…y-you hugg-gging m-m-e," he shivers.

Sam barks a frantic, desperate laugh, despite the increasingly dire situation, and hugs him tighter, relieved that Dean's lucid enough to joke. "Jerk."

"B-b-bit-tch."

Sam glances outside and the light-hearted moment fades quickly. The blizzard's still raging, and after the car went into a tailspin, he has no idea which direction he's facing. Dean pulls away from him and pushes the passenger side door open as far as he can with the large drift of snow beside them and heaves a few more times. Blood and bile painting a morbid picture into the pristine white snow. The way the snow is falling into the car tells Sam that he must still be facing the right direction, but he's doubting himself. Still they can't afford to wait it out, at the rate it's snowing they could be buried underneath it completely by morning and Dean doesn't have that long.

When Dean's done heaving Sam helps him inside, reaching to close the door and Dean curls into himself in an awkward foetal position, one hand still snaked around his stomach, the other still clutching his chest.

"Ready to move?"

"W-we, can't-t g-go out-t in th-th-this," Dean murmurs between his violent shivers, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the window.

"Dean, look at you, we don't have a choice. Bobby's is close, I can do this," Sam replies, pulling Dean towards him again with only a weak shove as protest. It's useless trying to warm him up. The poison is freezing his core in such a way that if it were normal hypothermia, Dean would've been long dead by now. This poison is supernatural in nature, unpredictable, working against logic and reason so nothing would be able to warm him except the antidote.

Dean trembles in his grasp and slinks down so that he's lying in a position similar to the one he was in earlier. He looks up at Sam, but his eyes are unfocused and glazed, involuntary tears falling down his cheeks leaving a frosty streak. "I d-don't th-think…Sammy…it's t-too late."

"No," Sam says, shifting the car into reverse, "don't talk like that."

A soft cry escapes his lips as his body spasms in pain, but this attack is short and he takes a deep breathe and whispers, "P-point of n-no r-ret-turn Sa-mm-mmy."

"Bull shit," Sam mutters, squeezing Dean's shoulder and with determination he steps on the accelerator.

The wheels spin in place.

"No!" Sam hisses, banging his hands on the steering wheel.

"Sammy…" Dean groans, reaching blindly for Sam's arm. Sam looks down at him and gasping at the sight of Dean's eyes. They're wide open and unseeing. His green irises are blue and impossibly covered in a film that looks like frost.

Sam steps on the accelerator again and the wheels spin and spin, but the Impala doesn't move. It only manages to create deeper grooves in the snow.

They're stuck and the storm rages on.

* * *

I'll try to update by Monday or Tuesday. Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

As promised here's the next chapter! Thought we should get some of Dean's POV this time.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed!

Enjoy!

* * *

Everything hurts. It's like thousands of needles repeatedly stabbing him everywhere, showing no mercy. Deep, unrelenting aches settle in his bones, the pain in the bones and joints he had broken or dislocated in his lifetime throbbing without reprieve. He shifts positions hoping to ease the pain but the mere act of moving causes his entire body to scream in protest. The human body isn't designed to be this cold and live.

He keeps his eyes closed because when he opens them all he can see is white. White like the snow ravaging the world outside. The brightness of the white hurts his eyes, hurts his head and the fact he can't see anything but white, white, white scares him more than anything else. More than maybe dying from this poison. It's like the unforgiving whiteness has taken from him what little control he had left, leaving him feeling detached from the world around him. A frozen shell.

Since getting stuck in the ditch Dean's been lying on his side partially on Sam's lap as his hand continues to try and rub warmth into him, but Dean knows it's useless and he suspects that Sam does too. But he doesn't say anything even though the motion is only making the pain worse. Dean's given up, accepting that it's probably too late to be saved from this curse, but Sam's still clinging to hope and Dean can do nothing else but cling to Sam. That's why he doesn't protest the close contact, he doesn't protest the useless attempts at warming him up.

The poison is freezing him from the inside out. Nothing will be able to warm him. It's useless, it's hopeless…what's the point of trying? He's better off running outside and let the blizzard claim him before the poison can.

Rolling awkwardly onto his back, he blindly gropes the air in search of Sam's hand. Foolishly opening his eyes in the hopes that maybe this time he won't see nothing but white.

"S'mmy," he groans weakly, beyond caring about how pathetic he sounds, beyond pretending that he's OK and it's not that bad. Right now he needs his brother to anchor him, remove him from the dark, hopeless thoughts running through his head. He wonders if maybe it's the poison talking, convincing him that there's no way out of this mess. Or maybe it's the unnatural blindness combined with the cold removing him from reality. He can feel Sam grasp his hand in a tight grip, feels his body being pulled up and he scoots closer as Sam's arms wrap around him, he can feel his warm breath on his frozen neck and can hear whispered promises of salvation and warmth.

Unable to hold it back he whimpers softly, needing that hope, needing that reassurance. It's the only way he can force himself to keep fighting when succumbing to the poison seems so much easier. Bobby has the antidote, Bobby can save him he just…he just has to…has to…

The frozen fire within him flares all of a sudden and his body writhes in response as an almost inhuman cry escapes him.

"Dean!" he hears Sam yell. He can feel Sam grasping him trying to hold him steady and keep him from hurting himself further as his breath is suddenly stolen from him and he violently convulses in jerky, uncontrolled movements.

The next few agonizing minutes are nothing but torturous. His heart pounds rapidly, painfully, straining to combat the ice pumping through his veins, threatening to freeze his blood solid. It seems every time the poison attacks, it gets that much stronger and he comes out worse off than before. He wonders how many more attacks before he succumbs, how much longer before his heart is a block of ice like the autopsy reports revealed on the previous victims.

Vaguely he wonders if maybe he won't die at all but transform. Maybe he's not dying but becoming the creature that attacked him. After all, that's what happens isn't it? Didn't Bobby say that the poison is like a werewolf's bite, that it can turn a person into another ice-creature but 99.9 percent of the time the victim dies before they can become? That's why the creature is so rare, because everyone dies before they can tun, but what if he falls into that 0.1 percent? Maybe that's why he's lasted this long…

"Sam!" he cries out, even as his body is seizing and convulsing, though for all he knows it may sound more like an incoherent hiss. He opens his eyes to seek him out, ignoring the whiteness that assaults his vision hoping that maybe if he squints he can see something, a faint outline of his brother, _anything_ just as his brother had squinted and focused in a desperate attempt to see the road before they got stuck. He was wrong, the unnatural blindness doesn't scare him as much as the thought of becoming the creature they hunted. "Sammy," this time his voice is a weakened whimper, desperately begging Sam to keep him from turning if it came to that, but he doesn't have the strength to say anything else.

He can vaguely hear his brother call his name, he can feel hands on his face holding him steady despite the violent tremors. He can distantly feel his breath, warm against his cheeks, as Sam begs him to breathe.

It's only then that he realizes he had stopped, so he gulps in air greedily. The air he inhales is warm but it seems to freeze the moment it reaches his lungs and he coughs, his stomach clenches and protests and the blood and bile burns as it travels up his oesophagus and spills into his mouth. He pulls away from Sam, sitting up slightly, turning and leaning over the seat. He realizes that he's puking up blood all over the floor of his car but he's beyond caring. Dean can feel Sam holding him, comforting him and keeping him from falling and he's not sure whether to laugh or cry because any other time he'd be shoving him away, but now all he wants to do is hold on an not let go. The contact is the only thing keeping him from losing it altogether amidst the pain, the cold, the blindness and fear.

The attack is over and he lays on his side, gasping for air, his fingers reaching for Sam and finding purchase on his jacket and clutching tightly for dear life.

For a moment there's nothing but the sound of his wheezy breaths in sync with Sam's, his struggling heartbeat and the cacophony of the violent winds outside hissing a wrathful tune. Sam's taken his hand and squeezes and they stay like that for a moment.

"Dean?" Sam asks finally, "you with me?"

Dean nods, but doesn't trust his voice to speak just yet.

"Hold on," he murmurs comfortingly, but underneath there's a frightening determination that has Dean clutching him tighter. He can feel Sam carefully moving away from him, and while he can't see him, he can sense an energy radiating off of him that tells him that Sammy's planning to do something incredibly stupid.

"S-s-sam…" he whispers hoarsely, which is all he can manage, "wh-what're y' doin'?"

"I'll be right back."

"Wh-what? No, S-sam, y-you can't l-leave!" he tries to sound authoritative, but the weakness in his voice, the weakness in his entire being has him sounding childish and desperate. "Th-the s-s-storm…"

"It's dying down some, visibility is improving, I can see the road now," Sam says, and even though Dean can't see it, he knows Sam's lying. He can hear the wind howling and feel the Impala gently rock against the force. "I'm gonna dig us out." Sam lets go of his hand and he can hear him struggle to open the door against the wind, feel the snow forcing it's way through the narrow opening.

"N-no!" he cries out, "Sam, d-don't y' d-dare!:

"We can't stay here and wait this out, Dean," Sam argues, "you don't have time. Don't worry, I can do this, I can dig us free. Just hold on. I'll get us to Bobby's, I promise!"

"Sam!" he protests weakly, lacking the energy to point out how dangerous it is to even attempt to go outside. Sam could freeze to death in his attempt to dig them out. The violent winds could knock him down, and would easily make his efforts futile. Just trying to drive would be dangerous for both of them.

"I'll be right back!"

Dean can hear the door opening, feel the wind and snow rush in and cling to him. He blindly reaches out, launching towards him, determined to pull Sam back inside but the door slams and his fingers brush against the door handle.

"Sam!" he repeats, knowing it's useless. Suddenly the pain flares up again and he cries out, his back arching mercilessly off the seat as he clutches the steering wheel, holding on for dear life. His other hand grabs at his chest, it feels as though someone's stabbing him with a hot poker and twisting, the wound so cold it burns and he claws at his chest suddenly doubting if the creature's claw really was pulled out. What if it broke off inside him and there's still a piece in there?

His body writhes as he claws at his wound, blindly tearing away at his jackets and shirt. As his frozen fingers come in contact with the wound the pain that follows is so searing that he releases a guttural howl, and the whiteness invading his sight flares and a brutal spike of pain stabs at his eyes.

Dean gasps for air, his grip on the steering wheel going limp, his arm falling uselessly to the floor as the other claws weakly at his wound, too weak to do any damage. He's fading and he knows it. It's taking far too much effort than it should for him to simply breathe.

He idly wonders how it's even possible to be this cold and endure this much pain and still be alive.

Eventually the agony fades to a dull ache and he can feel consciousness slipping from his grasp.

He coughs a couple of times, his body going completely slack as he forces himself to keep breathing, wills his heart to keep beating. He can feel it pounding weakly in his chest, forcing his blood to keep pumping through his veins to fight the poison's efforts to freeze him solid. But it's erratic, and steadily beating slower and slower as though it's giving up.

"Sam," he mouths in a mute plea.

He doesn't know how much time has passed since Sam went outside, all he can focus on now is staying awake and to keep breathing.

His heart continues to slow down, beating slower, slower, slower...

Until it comes to a stop.

* * *

A/N I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! (Ducks for cover and hides) I know it's an evil place to end the chapter but...my muse made me do it! I swear!

Don't worry, (spoiler alert!) this is not a deathfic.

Seeing as though I'll be working about 35 hours in the next three days, I probably won't be able to update until Friday or Saturday.

Again thanks to everyone who has reviewed and thanks for reading. Once again please let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N Sorry! I know I said I'd update Friday or Saturday but I'm working two jobs and then got the stomach flu that hit me really hard (I lost 10lbs in 2 days). I'm still not sure if I've shaken it yet and now I'm catching something else. Food is my enemy still, I ache all over and I've been too exhausted to write. But here it is, no more excuses, chapter three. I'm not thrilled with it but I didn't want to leave you hanging any longer. Besides, this is just an impromptu story that exists solely to keep my muse active and focused and to get over my obsessive need to overthink everything, the biggest reason why I'm generally a slow updater. So instead of overthinking this one I've promised myself to let go of my anxities and just go with it. Just write. So sorry if this is terrible, I only went over it once (honestly I usually edit my chapters/stories to death before I say to my self screw it and rewrite from scratch) so excuse any typos, examples of redundancy or continuity errors etc. I may go back later and edit and revise these chapters later, but any changes would be minor.

I dedicate this fic to all my fellow Dean!whump addicts, because there is just never enough Dean!whump it seems. I also dedicate this to people who miss Sammy and long for the days when the brothers worked in tandem and who hope to see it again very soon.

Thanks to all my lovely reviewers, you encourage me to keep writing when the devil on my shoulder named self-loathing tries to tell me I'm not good enough and I'm better off just giving up. Honestly, you have no idea how much your comments mean to me. It always cheers me up when I check my e-mail and see I've got a review alert, even if the comment is negative, in my experience even the negative ones are kind. Sorry, I think the fever is making me ramble like an idiot. You don't want to read my ramblings, you want to read the story don't you? So without further ado, may I present chapter three.

Enjoy.

* * *

It's a foolish venture going outside, Sam knows that but he doesn't care so he ignores Dean's pleas for him to stay, though it hurts him to do so. If Sam doesn't take action like, _yesterday _then Dean will end up a popsicle. Dean's is unnaturally, impossibly cold. His skin white with a pale bluish tinge, his lips blue, his eyelashes and hair at the scalp covered in frost and his eyes… Sam shudders at the thought of Dean's eyes.

They look almost like the creature's eyes.

Sam can't bear to look at them and he prefers it when Dean keeps them closed. There was something about the way they were literally glazed over like frost on a window, his normally green irises a pale, icy blue that gives him the chills. Sam never brought up the strange appearance of his eyes, nor did Dean mention that he's essentially blind, but Sam knows. He knows and he worries about what that might mean.

But they can cross that bridge later if they have to, but first Sam needs to get them out of there and on their way to Bobby's. They can't just sit there and wait for the storm to clear up. Sam can't just sit there and wait for Dean to _die_. So as much as he doesn't want to leave Dean blind, dying and alone for even a moment, Sam ignores his brother's pleas, he ignores common sense and pushes the door open against the wind and steps out into the frigid cold.

The wind and snow immediately bite at his exposed flesh and he tightens the hood of his coat closed and squints against the oncoming wind, grasps the half-buried Impala for balance and support as slips and slides towards the trunk, fighting the blizzard's brutal force. The fierce winds shove roughly at him, snow whipping at his face, ice threatening to knock him off his feet as he makes his short but violent trek and it doesn't take long for the cold to penetrate his heavy winter coat.

Reaching the trunk he shivers as he uses his arms to desperately shove the snow off the trunk even as the wind dumps more snow on it. The violent, frigid air is harsh and unforgiving and soon Sam teeth are chattering, the cold chilling him to the bone. He wants to go back inside, to the warmth of the Impala but no matter how cold he is now, it's nothing compared to Dean at the moment. His mission helps him keep his focus. He is _not_ going to let his brother freeze to death in the warmth of his car, not when Bobby's is so close.

With shaking hands he digs into his pocket for his spare keys, wishing he had the foresight to put the shovel in the back seat like he had with the spare blankets, but it didn't occur to him that he'd end up needing to dig them out of a snow drift.

He fumbles with the keys, his gloves and his numb, trembling fingers and the relentless, heavy winds makes it a challenge just to separate the right key from the others and position it over the keyhole. As he works the blizzard dumps more snow on him, on the trunk and he brushes it off with his free hand as he struggles to get the key in the lock.

"Damn it!" he curses to the winds as he realizes the lock is frozen over. He stuffs the keys back in his pocket and shivers once before grabbing the Impala for support and going to his knees, digging away at the snow behind the tires with his hands. In his low position the blizzard seems less fierce, less likely to knock him off his feet, but it's still unrelenting. For every handful of snow he gets out of his way, the blizzard offers up even more.

Still, it doesn't stop him. Sam is nothing if not stubborn. He's not going to let the ice and snow win, he's not going to let wind and flurries and zero visibility stop him from getting his brother to Bobby's. He's not going to let anything get in his…

_Sam!_

He startles at the sound.

The distant voice seems to come from the wind, or maybe inside his head. But nonetheless it's strangely crystal clear. Vaguely it sounds like Dean and he blinks, his mind flashing back to a not so distant past, his brother on a hospital bed, flatlining and a distinct, disembodied voice screaming as the doctors shocked him back to life. It sends fear-born adrenaline to pump rapidly through his chest and he heaves in deep breaths, terrified.

He's got a sudden, uncontrollable urge to stop what he's doing and get back in the car. Now.

He can't explain it, but he's learned long ago to trust his instincts, it's a great asset with the family business. Acutely aware of how cold he is, how numb his hands are and how his cheeks sting from the bite of the wind he pushes himself to his feet, stumbling as the wind works against him and tries to shove him under. The need to get back to the car is overwhelming but he knows he needs to get back.

The blizzard fights his efforts to open the door, snow caked against the window hinders his chance of seeing inside and the blinding whiteness of the blizzard surrounding him mocks his determination. It takes far too much effort, the wind pushing him against the door as he tries to force it open. Practically growling with the effort he pulls the door open until the wind catches it and it flies open with too much force.

Dean's lying with his head in the driver's seat, unmoving, apparently unconscious. Quickly but gently, Sam pushes Dean out of the way just enough to give him room as he jumps inside, yanking the door closed with a grunt.

The heat from inside somehow makes him feel colder, and he gives a violent shiver as he looks down at his brother who's head now rests on his lap. He's unresponsive and still, no longer trembling from cold. His pale bluish-white skin shines like frost, his eyes closed, hand on his exposed chest.

"D-Dean?" Sam shivers, shaking him slightly, "I'm back, I'm here. You still with me?"

Sam holds his breath a moment, waiting for the response that doesn't come.

The chill that's settled into Sam's bones and the panic surging through his veins makes his body shudder uncontrollably as he takes off his glove and presses his numb fingers against Dean's frozen neck.

Nothing.

"Dean!" Sam cries in alarm, leaning forward putting his ear next to Dean's blue lips to listen or feel his breath.

Still nothing.

"Shit!" Sam gasps, "No, Dean! Don't you dare do this! You c-can't do this!"

It's awkward but Sam frantically shifts positions, shuffling around until he's somewhat kneeling over Dean, his back pressed against the ceiling, feet almost tangled with Dean's like they were playing a strange game of Twister. But the position gives him the leverage he needs to start CPR in the small confines of the Impala's interior.

Dean's wound is exposed, an ugly red and purple frozen mess. The purple lines of infection are deeper and darker than last time he saw it, and though Sam can't see it, he's certain that it had spread. Considering how Dean's hand had been limply resting on the wound and the fact that it was exposed to begin with tells Sam that Dean must've had a nasty attack while he was outside.

Guilt bubbles to the surface, conflicting with his panic but he forces himself to not let himself wallow, he forces himself to not think about how much pain Dean had to have been in while he was left alone and interlocks his fingers and presses down on Dean's chest and fights to get his brother's heart pumping again.

He's not sure how long he had been outside, trying to dig them out, he's not sure how long since Dean stopped breathing, or since his heart stopped beating. He has no idea, for all he knows it could be too late, but Sam forces himself not to think that as he puts his mouth over Dean's frozen lips and breathes warm air into his lungs.

"C-Come on, D-Dean!" he shivers, going back to chest compressions, "P-please don't do this!"

He counts breathlessly as he pumps furiously at his heart, flinching but not stopping when he hears a bone crack. Better Dean suffer broken ribs than die.

"Don't leave me Dean!"

He tries another life saving breath.

"P-please!" he begs, locking his fingers and trying the compressions again, trying not to think about the last time he had done CPR on his brother. Back then they were in a cold, damp basement, back then the doctors had said his heart was too damaged, that there was nothing they could do…

How long had it been since Dean's heart had stopped this time around? Within less than a year Dean's had two brushes with death. What if third time's a charm? How long can Dean keep cheating death before Death decides enough's enough?

Sam shakes his head and pushes the fear aside and continues fighting for his brother's life.

Pump, pump, pump, pump. Breath, breath, breath.

"I need you," he whimpers.

Sam knows by now he should give up, but he can't, he won't, not after he's gone this far. He pauses with CPR to rub at his sternum, rub the tender, bruised, frozen skin around the wound vigorously, friction warming the surface slightly and then he tries again.

Chest compressions.

Rescue breaths.

Sam's angry now.

"D-don't let this stupid p-poison win, Dean!" Sam yells, pressing furiously to keep his heart moving even though he himself is cold and exhausted, "My b-brother's _not_ gonna let some puny p-poison take him down! N-not when the antidote is so fucking close!"

He's feeling lightheaded from his efforts, he knows that it's been too long and he chokes out a furious, mournful sob as he slams his fist one more time against his brother's chest before collapsing. He grabs Dean's shoulders, shaking him, sobbing.

"No," he laments, sobbing into the crook of his frozen neck, "Dean. You c-can't…y-you can't do this to me! Don't leave me alone!"

A soft groan, nearly imperceptible against the howling of the wind outside, catches his attention. If Sam's ear wasn't so close, he probably would've missed it.

"Dean?" he sniffs, nearly banging his head on the ceiling as he quickly pushes himself up. He presses his fingers to Dean's neck and waits but feels nothing. He tries again in a different spot. Nothing. And then…

_Thump._

Long pause.

_Thump._

Sam draws in a sharp breath and holds it. Dean has a pulse. It's weak and way too slow but he has a pulse. To check his breathing Sam leans in close once again, his ear nearly touching Dean's lips. A faint huff of cold air hits his him and Sam exhales in relief, feeling the tears gather in his eyes once again. He wants to laugh but all he can do is cry because there's no telling how long that will last, how long _Dean_ will last. But he bought more time so he tries to be thankful but it's hard when he knows that how ever much time he bought, it's probably not enough.

He carefully moves Dean and repositions himself so he's leaning against the driver's side window and Dean's lying on his lap. Sam pulls him into a hug as he wraps the blankets around them both.

Sam weeps softly as he holds his brother in his arms, foolishly hoping his body heat will transfer to Dean but knowing that it's no use. If anything the cold radiating from Dean's body is transferring to him instead and he soon finds himself shivering again. He weeps from stress, guilt and grief as he holds his brother, grabbing his wrist and gripping it so that he can feel his pulse. If Dean's heart stops again, Sam wants to know right away.

There's no getting out of that snow drift, not while the blizzard keeps on raging. He'd hardly made a dent trying to dig them out and the snow undoubtedly undid what he did manage to dig away. Soon, very soon, Sam will have to turn the heat off to save gas. He'll have to try digging them out again later when the blizzard decides to ease up, but in the meantime, there's no way he's leaving his brother alone. Sam can only hope that Dean might return the favour.

* * *

A/N So with the CPR I was going for intense but what I think I got was cliched. On the other hand, this entire fic is pretty cliche too come to think of it. Of course, sometimes there's a reason things become cliche. I don't know where I'm going with this. I'll blame it on the fever. Damn flu.

Anyway, thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! I'll try and update in a couple of days.


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